


Beginnings

by MapleKomori



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: FACE Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleKomori/pseuds/MapleKomori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Matthew and little Alfred haven't seen each other since their parents divorced.  As the boys' birthdays approach, Arthur suggests that the family get back together, even if it's just for one weekend.  Maybe Francis isn't quite how Arthur remembered him and a new development turns Matthew's world around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Day dawned early, brimming with the promise of summer.  The scent of morning flowers perfumed the late June air, so Francis propped the door open wide.  He crossed the cabin’s slightly uneven wooden floor and pulled the curtains away from the window as well.  Soon, the quaint log cabin was filled with warmth and sweetness and sunlight.  
  
Stoking the banked embers in the tiny cast iron stove, Francis hummed to himself.  He loved this time of year.  It was a time of fond memories and new beginnings.  He cracked a few eggs into a pan and set them over the flames to cook.  That’s when he heard a squeak and a thud behind him.  
  
Francis turned around to see a pair of short, chubby legs sticking out from under a tangle of cloth.  A single blond curl protruded from what appeared to be a sleeve.  
  
“M’aidez...” the bundle whimpered.  “M’aidez, s’il vous plait.”  
  
Chuckling to himself, Francis approached the bundle and gently straightened out the clothing.  Tiny hands popped through the sleeves, followed by a golden-blond head emerging from the top.  
  
“Merci, Papa,” said Matthew.  His little pink cheeks blushed the colour of nearly ripe strawberries.  “Je suis desole.”  
  
“Pourquoi?”  
  
“I can’t dress myself,” Matthew whispered.  Francis knelt by his son, holding the fabric of his pants and shirt together for comparison.  The cotton shirt, dyed robin’s egg blue, complimented the dark blue woollen short pants in a lovely manner.  
  
“Ah, but I disagree, mon petit chou,” said Francis.  “You did a wonderful job choosing your clothing.  I’ll make a proper Frenchman of you yet.”  
  
For just a split second, Francis’ thoughts forcibly snapped back to a time long ago.  That man.  His rival.  His enemy.  His lover.  His tragedy.  HE never knew how to dress, looking shabby most of the time and drab at best.  No, little Matthew would not take after his other father.  
  
Matthew.  The little boy’s smile brought Francis back to the present moment.  So did the smell of fresh eggs, which were just about perfectly cooked.  As Francis removed the pan from the heat, Matthew scurried to set the table.  Forks and knives, clean but unpolished.  A spoon for jam and an extra plate for the bread that sat waiting to be sliced.  
  
Just as the two sat down to breakfast, there was a knock at the door.  Moving as one, they leaned over and looked out the window.  There on the their front step was a man with a heavy bag slung across his shoulder.  Matthew shrunk back.  
  
“Papa?” he asked Francis.  “Who is that?”  
  
“I believe that’s the courier,” Francis replied.  He offered Matthew his hand.    
  
“Shall we go take a look together?”  
  
Retreating into silence, Matthew clung to the edge of the table.  Francis showed him a gentle smile and then left him to go meet the man at the door.  
  
“Bon matin,” Francis said, in his ever-cordial tone.  
  
“Bon matin, Monsieur... Bonnefoy?”  
  
“Oui.”  
  
The man reached into his bag and pulled out a large envelope.  Francis saw his name printed on the front of it, written in a hand that made his stomach lurch.  A horrible moment came and went.  
  
“Monsieur?” the man said.  Francis became aware that he had been clicking his tongue.  
  
“Je suis bien,” he said, grasping the envelope.  “Merci.”  
  
The man nodded politely and left.  As through he was in a trance, Francis plodded back to the breakfast table.  Little Matthew had not yet begun to eat, but he had cut a slice of bread for each of them, and was carefully spreading jam over his slice.  These motions were so very familiar.  Corner to corner, edge to edge, his knife moved evenly across the surface of the bread.  Jam covered everything, stopping each time just before it reached the crust.  These purposeful movements were an undeniable reminder of the other side of Matthew’s heritage.  The envelope burned in Francis’ fingertips.  
  
“Aren’t you going to eat with me, Papa?”  
  
Francis nodded.  He knew he should probably leave the letter until after breakfast, but his curiosity was making him anxious.  
  
“Please begin without me, mon mignon.”  
  
On Francis’ study table, a letter opener awaited him.  Francis seized it and gutted the envelope like a freshly caught salmon.  The wax seal on the back of the envelope bore a rose and a crown, something Francis could stand to look at only briefly as he let the envelope drop to his desk.  As he unfolded the letter, the paper rattled in his subtly shaking hands.  
  
 _To my old friend, Francis,_  
  
the letter began.  Already, aggravation forced Francis to pause.  “Friend” was clearly not the word.  And what exactly did he mean by “old”?  
  
 _Although the last time we spoke, it was on less than amicable terms, I write to you on this occasion as a matter of sociability.  As you know, the boys’ birthdays fall within the same week.  Perhaps they might celebrate together?  They have not had the opportunity to play together since the divorce.  
  
Divorce was my invention, by the way, and aren’t we both happier for it?  Why, if we were still following your rules, then we would be forced to remain together.   ~~Or I could behead you.~~_  
  
That last line was scratched out, but not so strongly that Francis couldn’t read it.  
  
 _In any case, I propose that little Alfred and I visit you and Matthew early this July.  Not for our sake, Francis, but for theirs.  Please respond in time for us to make the trip._  
  
Sincerely,   
The Right Honourable Arthur Kirkland the First,   
Representative of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland     
  
Francis pulled his fist in tight, crushing the letter in his hand.  He let the ball of crumpled paper fall to the cabin floor.  
  
“A sign-off like that and he still addresses me as ‘old friend?’  Mon dieu.”  
  
The crumpled paper stared up at Francis.  It might as well have been smoking like a mortar shell.  Closing his eyes, Francis picked it up and threw it in the waste basket.  
  
“Papa?” Matthew called from the table.  He giggled.  “Did you forget to come back?”  
  
Francis made a point of regaining his composure.  He smiled warmly at his son, and promised himself he would do what was best for the youngster.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur may have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right that Matthew needed companionship his own age.  As bad as the fighting between Arthur and himself had been, Francis had to admit it was unfair to keep Matthew and Alfred separated.  There were no other children in the area, so Matthew’s only friends were the squirrels and raccoons and ring-necked geese that populated the area.  And, of course, his best friend was his papa - a papa who (however begrudgingly) knew the right thing to do.  Grumbling, Francis pulled a new sheet of paper from the stack on his desk.  He looked out the window to see little Matthew playing outside, and he silently cursed Arthur once more.  With a freshly dipped quill in his hand, he began to write.  
  
 _Cher Arthur,_  
  
J’accepte ton idée  
  
He scratched it out.  He had forgotten to whom he was writing, apparently.  Taking another piece of blank paper, Francis reminded himself that switching languages was no sign of submission.  It was merely an acknowledgement of his own superior mentality.  He was, after all, perfectly fluent in English, whereas Arthur’s French was rather lacking.  
  
Oh, but when Arthur did speak French... or, at least, try to.  His grammar was on the right side of acceptable and his pronunciation wasn’t always embarrassing.  And somehow, it sounded utterly magical - this strange voice, high and reserved, lilting around Francis’ language.  
  
Better times.  
  
Francis dipped his quill once more and laid the ink across the page.  
  
 _Dear Arthur,_  
  
 _After careful consideration, I have decided to accept your proposal.  Matthew and I will prepare the accommodations for you and Alfred.  As I’m sure you remember, Matthew’s birthday is the first of July, so please do not be late._  
  
 _Regards,_  
 _Monseigneur Francis Bonnefoy,_  
 _Representative of The Kingdom of France_  
  
The ink dried faster than Francis had expected.  He folded the letter neatly, placed it in an envelope, and marked it with his seal.  As soon as he handed off the letter to be delivered, he hoped that he had made the right decision.


	3. Chapter 3

Flecks of grass caught in the carriage wheels as they spun along the fledgling nation’s excuse for a road. It wasn’t that no one cared enough to build a proper road. It was just hard to decide where best to put one, seeing as Canada had relatively few visitors spread out over a lot of space.

Inside the carriage, little Alfred bounced up and down on the seat cushion. The momentum of the carriage urged him onward while every bump they rolled over sent him popping out of his seat. He had passed time on the long journey by making a game of it, purposefully jumping and letting the carriage’s shifting balance fling him along.

Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have insisted he sit still, but after spending so long in close quarters with the youngster, he was simply glad that he was entertained. Relishing these relatively peaceful moments, Arthur caught up on some sleep. He had no way of knowing when he’d be interrupted once again by a barrage of “I’m bored” and “are we there yet?”

Young Alfred was growing up quickly, becoming more and more of a handful each day. Sometimes, Arthur was concerned his son would grow up and leave him someday, but other times, Arthur felt that that day could not come soon enough.

“It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!”

Arthur opened one eye and saw Alfred standing on the seat beside him, grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s my birthday, right, Arthur?” Alfred chirped.

“Not yet,” Arthur replied. “And call me Father. Or Daddy. Or Dad.”

“Okay,” said Alfred, resuming his jumping. Arthur shut his eyes again and tried to go back to sleep.

“Hey, Arthur?”

Arthur gave a subtle grunt of annoyance.

“Yes?”

“Are we there yet?”

“No. Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Not tired!” Alfred shouted. He added a chant to his jumping routine: “It’s my birthday! Are we there yet? It’s my birthday! Are we there yet?”

For the seventh time that day, Arthur’s mind went to the bottle of whiskey he’d packed with him. There probably wasn’t enough in there for him to get drunk enough to tolerate Alfred. Of course, if he gave a little bit to Alfred, that might quiet him down.

“Which is something I’d never do, of course,” Arthur mumbled. The carriage lurched, sending Alfred flying. Arthur stumbled forward a little, and caught his balance on the door handle. One second later, Arthur realized that the carriage had come to a halt. He leaned out the window and caught the driver’s attention.

“Are we there yet?” Arthur asked the driver, and instantly wished he’d chosen different wording. The driver tipped his hat in Arthur’s direction.

“Yessir,” he replied. “Shall I begin unloading your things?”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, nodding curtly. He ducked back inside the carriage to let Alfred know that they had finally reached their destination. Little Alfred was asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Hauling mountains of luggage, plus the sleeping child, Arthur plodded up the path to the log cabin. He knocked at the door. And waited. And waited. Arthur looked back over his shoulder. The driver had already left, meaning Arthur was alone. At least, he felt alone. The sleeping child was more a responsibility than a companion, and Arthur felt more weighed down and tired than he had felt in ages. At long last, the door creaked open.

There he was, just as Arthur remembered. Tall, long haired, and with something of a miniature beard. Francis’ eyes sparkled just as they had on the day he and Arthur had met. All at once, Arthur felt the bittersweetness of lost love and the angry rush of bloody battle. There were a million words he wanted to say. He started with one.

“Hello.”

Francis nodded. 

“Welcome to my home,” Francis replied. “Please, come in.”

Without asking, Francis grasped the handle on one of Arthur’s cases and helped him carry it inside. Without protest, Arthur followed. Inside the log cabin, it was cool and shady and smelled faintly of pine. It reminded Arthur a little bit of his own house; the one in which he was raising Alfred. This house, of course, was a bit too ostentatious for his liking. Something about the bevelled framing around the windows and the excess of furniture annoyed Arthur. It suited Francis perfectly.

“I hope this will do,” said Francis, showing Arthur to a private corner of the cabin. The cabin was short on rooms to begin with, and this one was further divided with a curtain. Inside this area was a bed large enough for Arthur and Alfred to sleep in together. There was little else in the area, save for an empty space in which for them to put their luggage. It was a small space, although Arthur had to admit, it was a generous fraction of the entire area of the cabin. For a moment, Arthur wondered what would happen if he would ask for a nicer space - not that he needed it, but that it might be fun to make Francis’ life difficult. Then again, his pride put him above such childish things.

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Thank you.”

A heavy squirming under his arm drew his attention.

“Are we... there yet?” Alfred mumbled. Wriggling from Arthur’s grip, Alfred jumped to the floor. He looked up and stared at Francis.

“Hi,” said Alfred. “Are you the perverted old frog that Arthur told me about?”

“What the - !” Arthur shouted, diving toward Alfred and clapping his hand over his mouth. “I have said no such thing, young man.”

Francis smiled, perhaps enjoying Alfred’s cuteness, but in all likelihood, he was enjoying Arthur’s discomfort much more.

“Such a sweet boy,” Francis said. “When you get a little older, I’ve got something you might enjoy.”

Fuming like wildfire, Arthur flew to stand face to face with Francis. He glared at him with all the rage of a thousand dragons.

“This!” said Arthur. “This is a big part of why we’re not together anymore.”

Francis laughed.

“Calm down, Arthur,” Francis said. “I was merely referring to Louisiana. It appears all that time you spend in your horrible rainy climate is putting a damper on your worldview.”

He put his hand over his own mouth, feigning to stroke his beard. In a quiet voice, he added, “And that is another reason we cannot be together.”

While the two adults glared at each other, Alfred toddled off to explore. The layout of the cabin was neat and square; there was disappointingly little to climb on. Everything was either too fancy or too boring or too high off the ground for him to reach. That’s when he noticed a little bed. Child-sized. It was made of wood and the headboard was carved to depict a decorative maple leaf.

“Yippee!” Alfred cheered. “There must be another kid around here.”

“There is,” said a quiet voice. Alfred turned around. He couldn’t believe it. Standing in front of him was a little boy who looked just like him. The differences were slight; this boy’s hair was longer and styled differently, and his eyes were a soft shade of lavender while Alfred’s were ocean blue. Other than that, it was the same face, the same body, the same vocal timbre.

“Wow, you’re interesting!” said Alfred. “I’m going to show you to my dad.” Before Matthew could so much as step back, Alfred grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him to where Arthur and Francis stood talking. He pulled Matthew in front of the adults and put his arm around him.

“Hey, look!” Alfred said, beaming with pride as he presented his discovery to his fathers. Matthew shot a pleading glance up at Francis.

“Alfred, Matthew,” Francis said, “I see you have met one another.” Arthur knelt to be eye-level with the children.

“You two have actually met one another before,” he said. “Only, it was so long ago, I’m sure you wouldn’t remember.”

Alfred looked at Matthew for a moment, then back at Arthur. He shrugged.

“How did we know each other?”

A pause. Arthur wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that. He decided it was best to be honest with them as early as possible.

“You’re brothers,” he said, and watched for their response. Alfred simply nodded, perhaps not fully grasping what that meant. After all, he either had many brothers or no other brothers at all, depending on how one counts them. Matthew, on the other hand, understood it exactly how Arthur had meant it. His lavender eyes went wide.

“Vraiment?”

“Oui,” Arthur replied. “Tu est... les frères. Vous êtes? Vous. Both of vous. Er, vous avez...?” He looked up at Francis, who raised an eyebrow.

“You are out of practice,” Francis said. “Old friend.”

“I don’t waste my time staying in practice.”

“Oh, is bilingualism too complicated for you? Can’t tell avoir from être?”

“I’ll avoir YOUR être,” Arthur mumbled, climbing to a standing position once more. Any resentment he felt quickly faded, though, as he saw Matthew take Alfred’s hands in his own. Matthew stared at Alfred in wonder, and after a moment, brought him into a tight embrace.

“Je suis tres, tres heureux,” Matthew said, pulling Alfred closer. Alfred looked up over Matthew’s shoulder, showing Arthur a quizzical look. Matthew didn’t seem to notice.

“Bienvenue a ma pays.”

Alfred gave Matthew a hearty pat on the back as he pulled out of the hug.

“Boy, you sure talk funny,” he said. “Wanna be my friend?”

“Oui, bien sûr!”

Matthew felt Francis’ hand tap gently on his shoulder.

“Matthew? Seulement anglais, pour Alfred.” 

Matthew nodded.

“Do you want to play outside?” Matthew asked his newfound brother. Alfred nodded with enthusiasm. The two boys ran out to play in the forest. As their happy laughter faded away in the distance, an uncomfortable silence flooded the cabin. After so many years of bitter separation, Arthur and Francis were alone together.


	5. Chapter 5

The cabin’s interior felt humid and stuffy, yet there was an unspoken agreement between Arthur and Francis not to go outside. What they were about to discuss didn’t need to be exposed in daylight. Besides, it was better to attribute the imminent discomfort to the environs. 

“Matthew is growing up so quickly,” Arthur said. Francis nodded.

“Indeed. And he was eager to see you and Alfred. Usually, he is quite shy.”

“Shy, is he?” Arthur said. “Very good. That means he’s less likely to grow up to be a philandering, egocentric libertine.”

The glare in Francis’ eyes had daggers in it.

“Yes, Matthew is rather shy and sensitive. That means he has emotions. You know what emotions are, right, Arthur?”

“Of course,” Arthur replied. “They’re those things you blame for your habit of sleeping with half of Europe.”

“Because love is a thing to be constrained?”

“There’s a time and place for it...”

Francis sighed and laid his hand across his brow, which Arthur completely saw as an intentional hair toss.

“Really, Arthur,” said Francis. “There is only so much love in this world. Shouldn’t we celebrate the joys of life? Or does that also need to be ordered and constricted to make you happy?”

“This isn’t about happiness!”

“It never is, with you. The sun never sets on your gloomy empire because it never damn well rises.”

Arthur flailed, fighting to keep his own anger down as his mind raced to think of a good comeback.

“Is keeping it in your trousers such a foreign concept to you? If you’ll excuse my choice of words.”

“All your words come from my words!”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

In the insufferable heat of the cabin’s interior, Arthur and Francis found themselves standing nose to nose. Angry breaths volleyed between them. They caught themselves and pulled away from each other. This was not the time for a screaming match, nor for pouting and arm-folding. They were adults, empires, and had to conduct themselves as such.

“This is all for the boys,” Arthur said aloud, as much for Francis’ sake as it was for his own.

“You are right, Arthur,” said Francis. “May I suggest we focus on planning the party?”

Meanwhile, Alfred and Matthew chased each other through the forest. Birch, pine, oak, and maple stood in collaboration to create the labyrinthine playground. Matthew darted around a tree trunk and stood stock still, waiting for Alfred to pass him. His plan to take him by surprise did not work, however, because Alfred wandered off.

“Hey, Matthew!” Alfred called from a short distance away. “C’mere.”

Abandoning his hiding spot, Matthew followed Alfred’s voice. He soon found his brother crouching on the ground, poring over a fallen leaf. Matthew watched as Alfred picked the leaf up and held it up to the sunlight. Its long, symmetrical, waving shape was was illuminated, and all its veins exposed.

“My dad has pictures of these leaves around our house,” Alfred said. “I guess he likes them.”

“That’s from an oak,” Matthew said. “They’re nice trees, and in fall, they make acorns.”

“Wow!” said Alfred. He tucked the oak leaf into his pocket. That’s when his gaze fell upon another leaf a few paces away. He lunged to retrieve it.

“And this one’s a maple, right?” Alfred said, holding it up for Matthew to see. Matthew grinned.

“That’s right.”

“I recognize this one because I know you like them.” Alfred handed the maple leaf to Matthew.

“Here,” Alfred said. “It’s a present.” Matthew’s eyes lit up. It was his first present from his first real friend. It didn’t matter that it was just a leaf from the forest floor. It was special. Matthew accepted the leaf and held it as though it was a handful of gold coins. Carefully, he looped the stem around a button on his shirt until it stayed in place. Then he gestured for Alfred to follow him. The two boys made their way a little deeper into the forest. They stopped when they arrived at another kind of tree. Matthew scanned the ground for a fallen leaf, but it was far too early in the year. It seemed that the squirrels had been gentle enough in their running to spare these leaves, which were all still firmly attached to the tree.

“Oh, no,” said Matthew. 

“What is it?”

Matthew gestured to the poplar tree that stood in front of them. 

“I wanted to give you one of these leaves,” Matthew said. He pointed up at the lowest branch. “See? They’re heart-shaped.”

Shielding his eyes from the sunlight, Alfred looked up to see the leaves in question. They did indeed look like upside-down hearts. It was interesting, alright. 

“Oh, I get it!” Alfred said. He threw his arms around Matthew, but then broke away from the hug before Matthew could hug him back.

“I like you a lot too, brother!”

Alfred surveyed the tree for a moment longer before tiring of trees and leaves and other things he had back home anyway.

“What else is fun in this place?” 

Matthew smiled.

“Let me show you something.”

Matthew led the way in yet another direction. Mud and leaves and wildflowers formed a twisting path that led to a clearing. The sound of running water joined the chorus of bird songs. Matthew and Alfred stopped at the edge of a shallow stream. They both knelt down for a closer look. The water was clear; the only reason the bottom was obscured was because of the endless ripples created by the water running over the rocks. Just beneath the surface, a silvery fish darted by.

“It’s pretty here, eh?” Matthew said.

“Sure is,” said Alfred. The boys watched their glittering, distorted reflections in the water. The two shapes wobbled along, seemingly moving as the rest of the river appeared to stand still.

“You know,” said Alfred, “we look a lot alike.” Matthew giggled.

“Well, it’s not really clear because the water is moving.”

“No, I meant, for real.” Alfred sat up straight and looked at Matthew. They had such similar faces. It was like looking into a mirror, only... not. Matthew was not a perfect reflection of him. He was an echo. A ripple in the water.

“We’re brothers,” Matthew said.

“I know,” Alfred replied. “My dad told me all about my brothers. I have a brother in India and one in Hong Kong. I have brothers all over the Caribbean too, and in Africa, and in the South Pacific. But you’re the only one who looks like me.”

Matthew nodded. He knew his papa had lots of children all over the world too. But that was different. They were only his papa’s children because his papa had adopted all of them. They had nothing to do with each other. Matthew had never even met his brother in Côte D’Ivoire or his sister in the Seychelles Islands. All those kids had roots and families where they were, but Matthew was all alone. And so was Alfred. And, he was hoping, that maybe these striking similarities meant they could at least be all alone together.

“Do you know who your mother is?” Matthew asked.

“It’s Arthur,” Alfred replied, matter-of-factly.

“I thought he was your father.”

“He’s Mother England,” Alfred said. “He can be both.” Matthew pondered this for a while. He didn’t know what was true anymore. After some amount of time, his thoughts were interrupted by Alfred poking him in the shoulder.

“Hey, Matthew, Matthew, Matthew, Matthew,” he said. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back to the cabin.”

Matthew looked down, making sure his wonderful maple leaf present was still attached. He tightened the loop of the stem just a little bit more, just in case. Then he led Alfred out of the forest.


	6. Chapter 6

When they returned to the cabin, they found it decorated in a fun, albeit unusual way. Streamers of red, white, and blue hung from the rafters, but only on one side of the cabin. On the other, there was a banner that said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MATTHEW AND ALFRED.” The furniture had been rearranged, although to what end, no one could say.

“Welcome home, boys,” Francis said, climbing down from atop a chair. Matthew and Alfred wandered wide-eyed through the cabin.

“Wow!” said Alfred. “This is all for my birthday?”

“And Matthew’s,” said Francis. Matthew smiled appreciatively as Francis tossed his hair. “Of course, the side I decorated is so much nicer, so please take that as an expression of my parental doting on both of you. Arthur’s side is, well, don’t make him feel too bad about it.”

“I heard that, frog!” came a voice from outside. Arthur marched in through the front door, carrying a basket of blueberries.

“Hi, Dad!” shouted Alfred, running to greet him. Matthew followed, although he wasn’t quite sure if he could address Arthur as “Dad.” Arthur knelt on the floor and swept both Alfred and Matthew into a hug. Peeking into the basket, Alfred asked what the blueberries were for.

“I’m going to make a birthday cake for you two,” Arthur said, beaming with pride. “Aren’t you lucky?” Francis shuddered.

“Er, Arthur?” he said, as though the basket of blueberries was a loaded musket. “Maybe you should put those down.”

“Why? Why shouldn’t I make a nice cake for my - Right! Stop that!”

Francis resumed a neutral expression and denied that he had been making faces.

“Perhaps you should be in charge of something else instead,” Francis suggested. “Like music. Or games. Or anything but food.”

“And why is that?” Arthur said pointedly. Francis only shook his head. Oblivious, Alfred ran in circles around the cabin. He jumped and batted at the streamers. As Matthew watched, he debated joining in.

“I don’t care who does what,” Matthew said. “I’m just happy we’re all together for our birthdays.”

“Yeah!” said Alfred. “And I want cake and presents.” He stopped in his tracks. 

“Can I have some food right now?” he asked Arthur and Francis. Before Arthur could say anything, Francis pushed ahead.

“Of course, Alfred,” he said. “I will make you the most delicious lunch you have ever had in your life. Although, I am sure that the bar for that has been set quite low.”

Clutching the basket of blueberries, Arthur grumbled. He refused to look up as Francis bustled around the kitchen, gathering ingredients.

“And you, Matthew?” Francis asked. Matthew shook his head. That’s when he felt Arthur gently lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not hungry either,” Arthur said, glaring at Francis. “If you don’t mind, little Matthew and I are going to take a walk together.” In an instant, Matthew was flooded with feelings of confusion and joy and worry. He had never spent time alone with his other father. He was always a little bit scared meeting new people, especially adults, and yet this was an opportunity he didn’t want to pass up. While Francis danced through the kitchen, making lunch, Alfred fearlessly followed close behind him. Matthew told himself that if Alfred wasn’t nervous about Francis, then he didn’t have to be nervous about Arthur. Putting his tiny hand in Arthur’s, he walked with Arthur out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

The two walked without direction for some time, allowing themselves to become lost together amongst the sounds of birds and rushing river water. Eventually they came to a boulder that was large enough for them both to sit atop. Matthew struggled to climb it, at which point, Arthur picked him up and sat him on a smooth edge of the rock’s surface. Then Arthur climbed up beside him. The two sat together in a peaceful silence. 

As Matthew leaned against Arthur’s body, he felt comforted. His last wisps of nervousness, he realized, were awkward modesty. After all, here was the Earth’s most powerful empire, who had the whole world as his back garden, and he was choosing to spend time with just this one tiny colony. It was an honour Matthew found a little bit overwhelming.

“Aren’t you busy?” Matthew asked. Arthur looked down at him and smiled.

“Right now,” Arthur said, “I am doing the most important thing I could be doing.” Matthew blushed. He wondered if he was getting this special treatment because his birthday was so close. That thought made him sad, because if it was true then it meant that soon the spotlight would be gone.

“I like you, Arthur,” Matthew blurted out. Arthur chuckled. For a moment, Matthew worried that Arthur was laughing at him, but he soon realized that that wasn’t the case.

“I am very, very glad to hear you say that, Matthew.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “There’s something I’d like to offer you.”

“For my birthday?”

A quirky grin crossed Arthur’s face. He seemed to be privately amused by such a description.

“You can certainly call it that, if you like,” Arthur replied. “What I want to give you is a title.”

Matthew blinked in confusion. 

“Do you mean like, a book?” Matthew asked. He looked at each of Arthur’s hands and saw that he wasn’t carrying any books, or any presents at all for that matter. Arthur chuckled again and shook his head.

“A title is something people call you. For example, I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Right now, you’re just a nameless colony. I can offer you a lot more.”

“But sometimes people call me New France.”

Arthur waved dismissively.

“You don’t want to be New France,” he said. “Francis isn’t the powerful empire he used to be. All the wealth and power in the world rests in my hands.”

Matthew looked down at his own hands, which were nervously fidgeting. Reaching over, Arthur took Matthew’s hands in his. The strong, cool feeling of Arthur’s grasp made Matthew stop fidgeting in an instant.

“I can offer you so much more, little Matthew, if you’ll be my son. Please. Wouldn’t you like to become British North America?”

Matthew closed his eyes. The singing of the birds seemed so far away all of a sudden.

“British North America,” Matthew repeated. “Would that be my title?”

“Yes.”

“And do I have to do anything?”

Arthur made a flourishing gesture toward the horizon.

“You would move into my house,” he said. Matthew’s eyes widened and filled with tears. 

“But then I couldn’t live with Papa anymore.” Matthew sniffled. He snuggled against Arthur. What Arthur suggested may have upset him, but in that moment, the most important thing to Matthew was to not feel alone. Sensing he might have brought up the issue all too quickly, Arthur let go of Matthew’s hands. 

“If you choose to live with me, I will be your papa,” Arthur said. “And you can play with Alfred every day.”

Matthew sniffled again. This time he felt more confused than sad. He had gotten used to having Alfred around, and he knew Alfred would have to leave soon. On some level, Matthew wished he could go with him. Alfred was brave and strong and outgoing. Between the two boys, Alfred was clearly the better choice to be an empire’s favourite colony.

“How come Alfred isn’t British North America?” Matthew asked. “Why did you pick me?”

Cocking his head to one side, Arthur laughed bitterly. He patted Matthew on the back, perhaps in appreciation of a joke Matthew didn’t realize he had told.

“Alfred is getting worse and worse,” Arthur said. “He never listens to me.”

Matthew nodded. Arthur flinched as he caught himself.

“Er, of course, I don’t mean to compare you,” he said. “You’d both be my sons, in your own right. After all, you have the same... er... origin.”

With a confused blink, Matthew waited for Arthur to explain. He didn’t.

“Come,” said Arthur. “We’ve left Alfred and Francis alone too long. Who knows what trouble they’re getting up to without us, eh?” Arthur offered Matthew his hand, helping him down off the boulder. They walked back to the cabin hand in hand, Arthur whistling happily, and Matthew in a pensive silence.


	8. Chapter 8

When Arthur and Matthew pushed the cabin door open, they were met with the delicious smell of Francis’ cooking. Whatever it was had been made with lots of butter and fresh herbs - and there was little left of the dish.

“I’ll bet you’re regretting not staying for lunch,” Francis said as he scrubbed the pan. Arthur scoffed, refusing to admit how much he missed Francis’ cooking.

“Suit yourself,” said Francis. He handed a cleaned dish toward Alfred so the child could dry it, but Alfred had already run off. Matthew looked around and found Alfred bouncing on Arthur’s bed. In mid-air, Alfred stuck his legs out in front of him, bounced to a sitting position, and let momentum take him off the bed. He stopped inches away from Matthew, who flinched.

“You missed lunch,” Alfred said. Matthew shrugged. Even when enveloped in the scent of delicious food, Matthew still couldn’t think of eating. Arthur’s words weighed heavily inside his stomach. Looking at Alfred, Matthew felt like maybe he should say something, but he didn’t know what. Once again, Alfred broke the silence.

“Help me find my toys,” Alfred said, grasping the handle of one of Arthur’s bags and pulling it out of the stack. “I brought some but I don’t know where they are.” Matthew took another one of Arthur’s luggage cases and fiddled with the clasp. He didn’t feel up to making any big decisions right then and there. Besides, a chance to play with Alfred was nothing to pass up.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to go through your dad’s stuff?” Matthew asked.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Alfred replied, tossing one of Arthur’s dress shirts to the floor. Matthew carefully lifted the lid of the trunk he had unlatched. This one was heavy; it was full of books. Although he knew he should move on and not be nosy, he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to see an English book. Matthew could read a little bit in French, but English was still a mystery to him. As he picked up the top book, something fluttered out and landed on the floor. It was a picture - not a drawing, but a real daguerreotype. Matthew had never seen one of those before. It was haunting how the person in the picture looked exactly as they did in real life.

The woman in this picture had dark eyes and a kind smile. Her shiny dark hair and high cheekbones were like nothing Matthew had ever seen before. She wore a necklace of beads, and even though the picture was black and white, Matthew could tell the beads, in reality, were colourful. He looked at her eyes again. Something about them was terribly familiar. He put his hand over his heart and unexpectedly bumped the maple leaf hanging from his shirt button.

“Alfred?” Matthew asked, turning the picture so Alfred could see it. “Do you know who this is?” Alfred took a good, long look. Before he said anything, Arthur leaned in and grabbed the picture out of Matthew’s hands.

“And why, exactly, do you two think it’s okay to go rifling through other people’s personal belongings?”

Matthew crumpled in shame. Alfred shrugged. Muttering to himself, Arthur put his things back in order while gesturing for the children to leave. Matthew scurried away, grabbing Alfred by the hand and dragging him with him.

“Is he angry?” Matthew asked in a hushed tone.

“Nah,” said Alfred, shrugging. “He acts like that with me all the time.”

Before Matthew could really consider that, Alfred darted ahead toward the other side of the cabin. The boys were still holding hands and Matthew let himself be carried along. Alfred stopped in front of Francis, who showed them a smile as he stirred a large bowl of cake batter. Something about that just made Matthew’s heart break. It was impossible. There was no way he could leave Papa’s cakes, Papa’s smiles, Papa’s language. Papa’s love.

But there was also no way he could do without Alfred’s boldness and vivacious nature. And he’d been offered a place in the British Empire! If he went to stay at Arthur’s house, he would have the love and attention of the world’s strongest nation. He would have a special title and a secure future and... and... and English books! Did it really have to be one or the other?

“Matthew?” Francis asked. Matthew blinked, forcing himself to focus on the present moment. Francis held out a batter-covered spoon, which Matthew accepted with a quiet, “Merci, Papa.” Alfred had already licked his own spoon clean.

The taste of the batter made Matthew cry. The thought of never cooking with his papa again was too much.

“What’s wrong?” Francis and Alfred asked together. Both family members looked at him with such concern. Matthew knew that after this birthday, they would never all be together again. More tears fell, clouding his vision. Unable to speak, Matthew ran out of the cabin. The teardrops formed hot streaks down his face as he disappeared into the forest.


	9. Chapter 9

Without thinking, Matthew ran and ran. He let the trees surround him, wishing with all his might that they would block out his feelings. As the forest grew denser, Matthew was forced to slow down. His instincts told him he should turn back, but in that moment, his sadness was stronger than his instincts. There was no way he was returning to the cabin. There were no more hard decisions he’d force himself to face.

The birds kept singing overhead, and to Matthew, it seemed almost rude of them to carry on like that. He recalled how he used to think of the birds and squirrels as his friends; that was before he met Alfred. It wasn’t fair that he would have to give up Alfred. 

Matthew sobbed. He wanted someone to comfort him, but everyone he loved was so far away in so many ways. Soon, the forest floor was so thick with plant life that Matthew had to change directions. He spied a clearing a short distance away and made his way over to it. When he had nearly reached gentler ground, his foot caught on a tree root. He fell upon a cluster of sharp twigs and thorny weeds. The clean, grassy ground taunted him from about a metre away.

Sobbing louder, Matthew sat up. He examined his arms, which had absorbed the brunt of the fall. There were many scratches, some of which were bleeding.

“It’s not fair!” Matthew cried to the forest floor.

“What’s not fair, little one?” said a voice. Matthew gasped. He looked up to see a dark-haired woman standing over him. She offered her hand and helped him into the clearing. The two of them dusted the leaves off of Matthew. Suddenly remembering something, Matthew’s hands flew to his shirt button. His maple leaf from Alfred was, thankfully, still there. The woman, who looked rather familiar for some reason, smiled down at him.

Out under proper sunlight, Matthew looked at the woman once more. He couldn’t believe it. Unmistakably, she was the person in Arthur’s picture. Matthew tried to speak. He had so many questions, but words failed him. The woman knelt to his height.

“You’ll be alright,” she said, examining the scratches on him. “My house isn’t far from here, so we can get that cleaned out in just a moment.”

“I... I know you...” Matthew whispered. The woman’s gaze travelled from his arms up to his face. Puzzled, she looked deep into his eyes. Soon, her own eyes lit up with a flash of recognition.

“Kanata?” she asked.

“I... think so?” Matthew replied. The woman gently grasped a lock of Matthew’s golden blond hair.

“You look so different since you went into your fathers’ custody,” she said, an edge of sadness in her voice. “Both Arthur and Francis have made their mark on you, it seems.”

Matthew curled his pale hand around her tan wrist, wishing to hold her close to him forever. More memories came rushing back. Her voice. Her scent. Her warmth.

“Mother!” he cried, burying himself in a hug. She squeezed him tightly.

“Yes, my little Kanata,” she said. “You’ve finally come home, if only for a little while.”

Reluctantly, Matthew pulled back. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand.

“Only a little while?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

Matthew’s mother sighed.

“Your father made some very particular arrangements,” she said flatly, getting to her feet. “Arthur, I mean.”

“So I can’t - wait, what? Arthur is my father?”

Matthew’s mother nodded.

“And Alfred’s as well,” she said. “You are brothers by nature as well as by... whatever it is Arthur and Francis have concerned themselves with.” Once again, Matthew was overwhelmed by conflicting thoughts. If his family was much closer than he initially thought, why were they all further apart than he could ever imagine? If Arthur was his father, then he did indeed have a home as a British colony. But that would pull him even further away from his papa. These paradoxes were made all the more stressful since he’d finally met his mother, only to learn he could never get close to her again. Fresh tears began to fall.

“Don’t cry, little one,” Matthew’s mother said. “Let’s go back to my house and deal with those cuts, first of all.” Matthew nodded. He let her scoop him up and carry him across the field.


	10. Chapter 10

They arrived in front of a narrow wooden building that was about 80 feet long. At the front end was a doorway, draped with a deer hide, which Matthew’s mother pushed aside as she carried him in. Matthew revelled in the feeling of being close to her. It was something he was experiencing for the first time, as far back as his memories could reach, yet it was something he knew as his origin point. He tried not to mind it too much when she put him down. Matthew’s mother left to get some First Aid supplies. He hoped she’d return soon. The cuts on his arms and the scrape on his knee were beginning to sting.

He sat back, looking up at the arching roof overhead. It was so dark inside the longhouse, it was hard for him to see much else. That’s when he heard a rustling noise. A beam of sunlight flashed as something moved the deer hide door flap for just a moment. Matthew gulped. Someone - or something - was with him in the dark.

“Mother?” Matthew called, hoping she’d hurry to his rescue. She didn’t reply. Whatever it was was lurking behind a stack of firewood. Matthew scrambled to his feet, ready to run. He stumbled back. The thing burst from behind the wood pile. Matthew screamed.

“Stop screaming,” said the little white bear cub. The bear cub climbed over the wood pile and sat on the ground in front of Matthew.

“Do you have any food?”

“I... uh... No, sorry, I don’t.”

That’s when Matthew’s mother returned carrying a bowl of liquid and some bandages. She surveyed the scene.

“Kumajiro,” she sighed. “Are you bothering my son?”

The bear cub’s eyes widened. 

“Your son?”

“Yes,” she said. “His name is Kanata.”

“Or you can call me Matthew,” Matthew said. He held as still as possible as his mother applied the stinging solution to his cuts. He tried to suppress the awkwardness he felt about the bear watching so closely.

“Who are you?” the bear asked him. It was a question Matthew himself had struggling with.

“Well,” he said carefully. “I’m a European colony right now. Because of my papa, people call me New France. But I also might be British North America. I’m not sure.”

The bear looked confused. He leaned in a little closer, causing Matthew to shrink back.

“Who are you?” the bear asked again.

“I’m... um, I’m Kanata?” Matthew tried. The bear still looked confused. Matthew’s mother shook her head.

“A bear who doesn’t want to be rude should also introduce himself,” she said. “Don’t you think so, Kumajiro?”

Kumajiro nodded, but said nothing more. Matthew watched in relief as his mother put the stinging solution away and moved onto the much less painful bandaging stage.

“So...” said Matthew. “If Arthur is my real father, then does that mean I’m already British North America?”

Before his mother could answer, Kumajiro pushed in in front of her, looking for something to eat. Squeezing her eyes shut in annoyance, Matthew’s mother pushed him out of the way.

“So sorry, Kanata,” she said. “I made the mistake of feeding him once and now he won’t leave.”

“Kumajiro?”

“No, your father.”

“Who?” said Kumajiro, who had found himself a small squash and was munching on it loudly.

All too soon, Matthew’s mother was done applying the bandages. That was, ostensibly, the only reason he could stay. He knew that both of his fathers would be worried about him. Maybe they had even gone out looking for him, and it would be dangerous for everyone if Matthew wasn’t safe at home before sunset. Matthew looked up at his mother once again and wondered how he could be homesick for more than one place. Tearful, he fell into her embrace.

“I don’t know what to do,” he cried. “I want to be French and British and stay with you too all at once.”

Ever so softly, Matthew’s mother stroked his hair.

“Listen to me, Kanata,” she said. “There are many nations in this land. There always have been. There always will be.”

Matthew looked up. He sniffled, the end of a long and shuddery sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“Even before Francis and Arthur arrived, there were lots of different nations living here. As much as your fathers have changed things, there is nothing new about you having a mixed identity. No matter what happened in the past and no matter what happens in the future, you can have lots of different homes, and you will always be Kanata.”

She wiped away a tear as it trickled down Matthew’s cheek.

“In fact,” she said, “that’s part of what makes you who you are.” Matthew let her words sink in. They settled in his heart, giving him a warm, glowing feeling. He reached to touch his heart and found his maple leaf.

“Here,” he said, unwinding the stem with the utmost care. Cradling the leaf in his hands, he held it out to his mother.

“I want you to have this,” Matthew said. “As a reminder.”

“I don’t need a reminder,” his mother replied. “You are my son. How could I ever forget you?”

Matthew shook his head.

“The reminder is for me,” he said. “I want to know I don’t have this with me anymore. If I have to grow up away from you, then I want to always remember that a part of me is missing.” Matthew placed the maple leaf in his mother’s hands. She sombrely accepted it.

“Oh,” said Kumajiro, “I should be out hunting for my dinner.” The bear cub waddled out of the longhouse. When he pushed his way out the door, he revealed how very low the sun was on the horizon. Matthew and his mother looked at one another, knowing they couldn’t delay any longer.

“I can... I can walk you to the edge of the forest,” his mother said. Matthew took his mother’s hand, and promised himself that it would not be for the last time.


	11. Chapter 11

It was nearly nightfall by the time Matthew entered the cabin. Francis and Alfred hurried to meet him.

“Hey, Francis! I found him!”

“Dieu merci. We were so worried.”

Matthew blushed.

“Sorry I was gone so long.” Absent-mindedly, he put his hand over where he had worn his maple leaf. Somehow, noticing it wasn’t there made him feel more grown-up; more mindful. For the first time, he thought of himself as a real nation. All of a sudden, he had a real history with real challenges, real victories, and real regrets. The following day would be his birthday, marking yet another passing year in his life. This year however, it wouldn’t be just another celebration. It represented an actual change. A turning point. For the first time ever, Matthew felt like he was gaining the beginnings of a national identity.

“It’s not as much fun as I thought it would be,” he said, too quietly for anyone else to hear it. Francis gestured for Alfred to open the cabin door once more and check outside for some reason. Hardly taking notice, Matthew was still deep in thought.

“I think I understand now,” he said, thinking of what his mother had taught him that day. “But no matter what happens, I will always be Kanata.”

“Who?” said Kumajiro, who had wandered into the cabin. Matthew startled.

“Are you following me?” Matthew asked. Kumajiro shrugged.

“I smelled tasty food,” he said. Before Matthew could do anything else, Alfred returned with Arthur following him.

“Found him - hey!” Alfred said. He stared at Kumajiro.

“How come Matthew gets a polar bear and I don’t get a polar bear?”

“Bloody hell, Francis. Where did you get a polar bear?”  
 “What polar bear?” Francis called from the kitchen area. Francis was focusing on something, completely ignoring the goings-on. In a moment, he returned and looked at Kumajiro, just as confused as anyone else.

“Honestly,” said Arthur, rolling his eyes. “I go out there looking for Matthew and I come back to a bloody polar bear? You’re completely f*cking ridiculous. Excuse my French.”

Francis crossed his arms and glared at Arthur. 

“I don’t know where the polar bear came from, you - ” A string of French profanities ensued, and an irritated Arthur could only guess at their meanings.

“Stop it!” Matthew shouted. “Um, please.” He looked around. His fathers were bickering, his brother was climbing on Kumajiro’s back, and Kumajiro was snout-deep in a basket of blueberries. If this was to be his next chapter, then so be it. It may have been chaos, but it felt like a chaos he could happily be a part of. 

Amidst the din, Matthew wandered over to the kitchen area of the cabin where Francis had been working. There, he saw the results of Francis’ handiwork. It was the biggest, most beautifully decorated cake he had ever seen. Across the top, in gorgeous red and blue calligraphy, were the words, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MATTHEW & ALFRED.” Matthew focused on the ampersand, tracing its graceful loops with his gaze. It was then that he realized how much he liked that symbol. It was a whole word in one stroke; one that worked in both of his languages and meant “togetherness” by the very nature of it being a compression of scattered letters. As Matthew reflected on how fitting it was, considering, he realized Arthur had found him.

“Sneaking a peek, are we?” Arthur said, stooping to Matthew’s height. “Well, I won’t tell Francis if you don’t, eh?”

Matthew nodded; something non-committal. Then, he changed his mind.

“I was thinking about the future,” he said. In an instant, Arthur’s expression went from mildly patronizing to genuinely intrigued.

“Oh? So you’ve considered my offer.”

Matthew nodded again. Grinning, Arthur rubbed his hands together.

“Very good,” he said. “Onward and upward. ‘Sans regarder derrierè,’ as old Francis would say.”

“I didn’t say yes yet,” Matthew said, and some deep-down part of him was ever so slightly pleased to watch the British Empire look taken aback. 

“Hey,” said Alfred, as he and Francis joined them in the kitchen. “What does ‘sans regarder derrierè’ mean?”

“It means don’t look back,” Francis said.

“Or, don’t look at my bum,” added Arthur. “Either way, words to live by.”

Francis snickered.

“Arthur, you act so innocent. It’s not as though - ”

“Francis! There are children present.”

Shrugging, Francis showed Arthur a coy smile.

“How did you even know what I was going to say? I was just going to talk about how we used to spend those long nights in the forest together.”

Francis picked up the bowl of leftover frosting and began stirring it, slowly and deliberately, grinning at Arthur. Matthew and Alfred exchanged glances and backed out of the kitchen.

“How we’d inspect each other’s muskets. Plow each other’s fields.” Francis leaned in close - too close - to Arthur’s face and whispered, “How I frosted your cupcakes.” Arthur slapped the frosting bowl out of Francis’ hands, letting it fall to the floor. Kumajiro lumbered into the kitchen and licked up all the frosting. This somehow went unnoticed by the empires.

“Must you always say perverted things?” said a very red-faced Arthur.

“I was merely speaking about cupcakes,” Francis replied. “What makes you think I am saying perverted things?”

“Your lips are moving.”

The two nations stared at one another with a long-forgotten intensity. Breathing heavily, Arthur grabbed Francis by the lapels of his jacket.

“Depraved frog.”

“Stodgy limey.”

They fell to the floor, kissing passionately and tugging at one another’s clothing. It did not seem to bother them that Kumajiro was still slobbering over the floor just a few paces away.

Wisely, Matthew and Alfred were already outside. They leaned against the cabin door and enjoyed the summer night.

“I know what my dad asked you,” Alfred said. “So?”

“So...?”

“So are you going to join us?”

Matthew smiled. The sounds of the nighttime forest and the wind in the leaves filled the silence.

“Yes,” he said quietly. He knew that, as a nation, there was nothing he could do to avoid change. What mattered was how he would handle it. He knew he would have to learn what would always be renewing itself - and what would stay the same forever. Then and there, Matthew promised himself that he would never fully leave his mother, nor his papa, nor the sweet sound of the summer wind rustling through the trees. The two brothers stood together, ready for the future that lay ahead.


End file.
